6 Hithui (November), Third Age 2542
In the deep heart of Mirkwood, beneath tangled branches that twisted upwards like grasping fingers, I first sensed the tremors. Subtle at first, they soon became impossible to ignore—a gentle shaking felt more keenly in the soles of my feet than observed with the eye. The wildlife had grown quiet, hiding among shadows and foliage as if sensing an ancient power stirring beneath their paws.
Guided by my instincts and scholarly curiosity, I ventured deeper into the forest’s shadowy embrace, following the disturbances. The further I traveled, the more pronounced the trembling became, until at last, I arrived at the edge of a hidden dell where roots of ancient trees sprawled outward like vast, gnarled guardians.
Careful not to disturb the silent sentinels, I knelt and examined the soil beneath my feet. The earth here was soft, strangely loose, and riddled with roots that seemed to grasp protectively at something buried far below. Intrigued, I withdrew an old tome from my pack—an Elvish manuscript recounting forgotten lore of Greenwood the Great before its corruption into Mirkwood.
The pages spoke of the “Watchers Beneath,” enigmatic beings of earth and root, guardians summoned long ago by Elven magic to protect secrets buried beneath the forest floor. According to legend, these Watchers had slept for centuries, only waking when something disturbed their slumber or threatened the hidden treasures they guarded.
I whispered softly in Sindarin, recounting ancient verses meant to show respect and peaceful intent. The tremors stilled, the roots seemed to relax slightly, allowing a small opening to form—a passage just wide enough to enter.
Stepping carefully, I descended into the darkness, my path illuminated only by a small lantern. The air grew thick and heavy, rich with the scent of earth and old memories. After what felt like hours, I emerged into a vast subterranean chamber, its walls shimmering with faint bioluminescence. At its center rested an immense stone engraved with ancient symbols, glowing faintly in response to my presence.
It was then I understood. The Watchers had awakened to guard a secret long held sacred: a stone imbued with memories of Greenwood’s pure and uncorrupted past, a beacon of hope and renewal should Mirkwood ever reclaim its true nature.
Carefully, reverently, I documented every detail, sketching the symbols and recording the history that might otherwise have been forgotten. When I finally ascended and emerged back into the twilight, I whispered my thanks to the Watchers beneath the roots, promising silently to preserve and honor their secret.
The tremors ceased, and the forest exhaled softly around me, reassured. Returning home, I carried with me not just the record of a hidden past, but the profound knowledge that beneath our very feet, Middle-earth held mysteries and guardians beyond measure, ever watchful, ever waiting.